


Later

by bepreparedf0rhell



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22073413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bepreparedf0rhell/pseuds/bepreparedf0rhell
Summary: In which Mick's having an off day.
Relationships: Jim Root/Mick Thomson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Later

**Author's Note:**

> This is uh... pointless and another example of me just being self-indulgent and dumb. It's not at all what I meant to write when I sat down but it happened anyway so I figured I'd post it!

Jim can tell there’s something off with Mick as soon as he first sees him as the band leaves their hotel to board their fleet of tour buses. They’ve just had a day off and are now about to embark on a ten day stretch full of nonstop shows and traveling, which Jim knows makes Mick grumpy just on principle, but this is immediately obviously different. 

They both end up on the same bus as they usually do; the band tours with four buses for the nine members, crew, and various family members that are usually there and they tend to at least sort of get separated by category. Jim and Mick both always gravitate towards the _‘shut the fuck up and go to sleep’_ bus instead of, for example, the _‘party all night and make various animal noises as loud as humanly possible’_ bus, which unsurprisingly Sid usually ends up on on. 

Jim throws his bag into his bunk and then watches as Mick wordlessly makes his way to his own bunk and climbs inside without a word to anyone and yanks the curtain shut. Jim wants to reach out, wants to ask him what’s wrong, but knows better. He knows damn well he’d just get growled at and told to fuck off, so he doesn’t bother. If Mick wants to talk, he will. 

The rest of the morning and early afternoon go by and Jim’s still vaguely concerned about Mick. He doesn’t see him again until they’re at the venue and Mick finally emerges from his bunk looking stiff and tired. He stretches his limbs and then pushes past Jim silently, hauling himself off of the bus.

Normally none of this would really be a cause for concern - Mick’s always been more of a loner, always liked his peace and quiet. At the same time, Jim’s known him long enough to know when he’s just his normal level of aloof and when something’s really wrong. Jim would’ve rolled his eyes if anyone else had said it, but Mick’s vibe was just off somehow. 

“Have you talked to Mick today?” Jim asks Corey a while later as they’re both in the backstage green room getting ready for the show. Corey shakes his head. 

“Not really, why?” he asks, and Jim shrugs. 

“He seems weird today.”

“He’s weird every day, Peach. That’s kind of his whole thing,” Corey says, closing the conversation by walking out of the room. Jim rolls his eyes, having fully expected the nonchalance. 

Jim tries his best to drop it, to just finish getting ready and hype himself up to play a good show. It mostly works; it’s like he switches off his concerned overthinker brain and switches on his masked idiot on stage playing metal brain, and that side of him just overtakes everything and makes him forget anything he might’ve been worried about before. 

They’re halfway through the show when the other side of his brain switches back on. Jim’s been keeping a casual eye on Mick for the entire show, but that’s mostly just because he kind of always does. He likes to know where Mick is so that he can move around him and try his best to keep out of his way and keep him out of his. With so many people on stage with their band, it’s kind of the only way you don’t end up on your ass on the floor because you tripped over someone, which is something that has absolutely happened to Jim multiple times. 

He notices right away when Mick starts acting a little weird. Mick’s definitely got sort of a very specific schtick he sticks to on stage, and Jim notices immediately when he starts to wobble a little bit and stops moving around the stage as much. Eventually, between two songs Jim watches as Mick takes off backstage. It’s not a completely abnormal occurrence for one or more of them to leave the stage when Corey takes to vamping for the crowd; whether it’s for a bathroom break, to switch guitars, pick up drum sticks, or just to cool down for a second and grab a water or whatever, it’s a normal thing. 

Jim strums his guitar lightly behind Corey’s talking, but in his head he’s counting the time. One minute passes, and then five. Everyone else is back out on stage and Jim can tell Corey’s running out of material. Jim starts to take off backstage and Corey catches his eye, clearly annoyed even through his mask. 

Jim searches for Mick, not finding him in the bathroom, where their techs are set up, or anywhere else that would make sense, and the guitar he’d been playing is propped against his gear backstage, clearly abandoned. Jim asks the techs where he’s gone, but somehow no one’s seen him.

Finally, Jim decides to check the green rooms backstage. Unless Mick’s fully decided in the middle of a show that he’s done with all this and is walking home from California to Iowa, that’s the only logical place left. As soon as he opens the door to the first green room, he has to slam it shut again because something is hurled quickly and with a lot of force straight at his head. 

“Mick?” he questions quietly. “It’s me.”

“Fuck off,” comes Mick’s reply and Jim can’t help but notice his voice is strained and sounds odd. Almost like he’s… crying? But that can’t be. Jim’s known Mick for more than twenty years and has never seen him cry, not even when shit bad enough that it definitely warranted crying has happened. 

Jim opens the door again, slower and more cautious. He holds an arm up to cover his face just in case Mick has more ammunition to throw, but nothing else comes and and after a moment he chances a look at him. He’s sitting on one of the couches, his large frame doubled over and long arms up so that his hands are squeezing his temples. His mask is thrown off to one side, sitting almost ominously on the couch cushion beside him. 

“Jim, please just fuck off,” Mick says again, his breath hitching and coming out in a loud almost-gasp.

“No,” Jim says, yanking off his own mask and tossing it next to Mick’s. “What’s wrong?” he asks, knowing there’s a pretty good chance he’s gonna get punched if he steps any closer. He takes the chance, though, because he’s never seen Mick like this, whatever _this_ is. 

“I c-can’t breathe,” Mick tells him, seemingly giving up his argument. Jim kneels in front of him, prying his hands away so that he can see his face and really get a good look at him. Immediately, he has a pretty good idea what’s going on. Mick's pale and quite frankly looks like he's about to throw up at any moment. His breathing is still coming in ragged wheezes that sound painful and broken. In that moment, Jim sees him in a way he never has before. He looks so small and lost and scared and tears almost rise to Jim's own eyes at it all.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Jim says, and Mick’s blue eyes shoot up to his green ones, immediately shaking his head. 

“I d-don’t have panic attacks.”

“Well, I do and that’s what this is,” Jim tells him, nodding firmly. Mick takes in a ragged breath, and Jim watches as his eyes fill with tears.

“Listen, just focus on breathing, okay? Just listen to my voice and focus on breathing in and out,” Jim says, continuing on in the same way for a while. 

Mick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and Jim’s heart pangs again as he watches him. Though he himself has had his fair share of panic attacks over the years, he’s guessing Mick’s never had one before. How scary it must be, especially for someone like Mick who’s so all about his tough-guy facade. Jim knows that underneath it all he definitely has a soft side, but he also knows that it’s almost impossible to get him to show it. 

They sit there like that for a long while, Jim just reminding him in a calm and gentle tone to breathe and Mick doing so while slowly getting steadier and steadier. Eventually, Mick’s eyes open and he looks up at Jim and shakes his head. 

“Well, I fuckin’ hated that,” he says, and Jim laughs quietly. 

“I don’t think anyone particularly likes it.”

“Thanks,” Mick says, and Jim’s surprised when he’s leaning in and plants a gentle peck on his lips. Jim catches him before he’s able to pull away fully, deepening the kiss and making Mick let out a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat. 

“You’re welcome,” Jim says when they pull apart a moment later, and Mick’s eyes suddenly aren’t upset anymore, but instead are filled with something else entirely, something that looks to Jim a hell of a lot like lust. 

“What the absolute fuck?!” Corey’s voice thunders down the hallway and Mick and Jim both instinctively reach for their masks and shove them onto their faces. The door to the green room bursts open and Corey storms inside, nearly vibrating with rage.

“What the fuck are you two idiots doing? You can fuck whenever you fucking want except for the hour and a half a day that you have a fucking job to do! Get your asses out on stage! Jesus Christ!” he hollers, turning on his heel and stepping back out of the room. 

The two of them stand to follow him, exchanging an amused look.

“Later,” Mick mumbles, slapping Jim’s ass as they go. Jim jumps and turns on him, rolling his eyes and laughing quietly. 

“Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> wheresyoursavior.tumblr.com


End file.
